Strange Theatrics
by The Hoopla Bones
Summary: Odd AbaratPhantom crossover. Yes. You read that right. Summary: Candy wanders an abandoned theater.


**The Author Speaks: **Weird little piece…I recently became a Phan, and since I love Abarat…there was a crossover just waiting to happen. Yes, I could probably do I much better job than this little mini-thing. I will probably write another, longer one. Oh yeah, and the voice is Carrion, in case you hadn't figured that out. is a rabid Carrioncandy shipper

**Characters belong to Clive Barker. Lyrics belong to A. Lloyd Webber and Charles Hart.**

**Strange Theatrics**

Candy had always loved the smell of the theater—rich and stuffy and deep and ropes, pulling and lifting, dragging and swinging. She felt the crumbs she brushed with imaginary fingers from crimson velvet, thought of singers with angelic voices and painted faces gliding across the wide empty wooden stage. She thought of all the emotions contained in a single building—tears and love and hate and death and joy, all captured by those who performed there.

Candy thought these things as she crossed the grand foyer, once majestic, the slick marble floors generously coated in dust. Her boots came down heavily with each step, thumping quietly. She reached the double doors, gilded and tall, slipping inside the darkness, and immediately inhaled. That smell—the one she had always loved, breathing images of plays and music and faces, bright colors, black shadows like puppeteers backstage creating the glory the audience saw. The rows of seats were empty, neglected, dusty, the rich red hue dulled by age and disrepair. The balconies and private boxes rose above her as she walked down the aisle. The carpet muffled Candy's footsteps. She felt almost like an intruder. It was so _silent_, and yet she could picture perfectly the dramas that had once taken place.

The stage was darkest of all. She hauled herself over the edge of the orchestra pit and fell to the ground in a crouched position, then straightened. A music stand lay fallen on the wooden floor. The music had long gone. She looked back out at the rows and rows of seats—all so empty, so silent. Candy imagined the grand audience sitting there in their fancy evening clothes, now laughing and smiling at the comedy, now suddenly held, fascinated, by the tragedy unfolding on the stage.

She turned back to the stage, clambering up onto the edge. The only sound was her heavy breathing as she stood up. Strange—the floor was perfectly clean, no dust or debris gathered there. Candy walked to center stage, glancing into the corners at the impassive curtains and immobile ropes dangling there. She thought of singers hoisted by those ropes not only to the ceiling but also to fame and stardom. She could almost hear their voices ringing out across the theater. She thought of herself singing here, acting out her own drama too perfect to behold and too terrible to ignore. She thought of everything and nothing.

Candy hummed a measure or two of some meaningless music she had learned by heart. She opened her mouth, feeling silly, pushing herself to sing. There was no one there to hear—what was the harm? Sing the first thing you think of, she told herself. Pretend that there are people out there listening. Pretend.

_You have come here  
in pursuit of your deepest urge,  
in pursuit of that wish,  
which till now has been silent,  
…silent…_

She had sung only part of a song, not even the beginning of a song, not even the female part, and yet she felt strange and lightheaded, almost elated. She had done it. She had sung to that invisible audience. Candy had put out her skills on display, and ordered them to make of it what they would. No matter that she was singing the Phantom, an octave above the original notes.

Suddenly the stage was awash in light. Momentarily blinded, she put her hands up to her eyes. When she could see again, she gazed out into the audience—it was now a murky black-red mass. The spotlights were trained on her. The light was warm and soothing.

A voice came out of the darkness.

_You have brought me_

_To that moment when words run dry_

_To that moment when speech disappears into silence…_

…_silence…_

She whirled, startled. She was trembling. Someone was singing the part Candy normally would have sung, Christine's part. Someone was there, singing to her.

It was a beautiful voice, a man's voice, silken and quiet and commanding. Deep and dark and silvery, it wound into her mind and twisted like a shadow in her heart. It was angelic, the truest Phantom she had ever heard, though he sung the woman's part an octave below the original notes.

Almost against her better judgment, Candy continued to sing.

_Past the point  
of no return -  
no backward glances:  
the games we've played  
till now are at  
an end . . .  
Past all thought  
of "if" or "when" -  
no use resisting:  
abandon thought,  
and let the dream  
descend . . ._

_What raging fire  
shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire  
unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction  
lies before  
us . . .?_

_Past the point  
of no return,  
the final threshold -  
what warm,  
unspoken secrets  
will we learn?  
Beyond the point  
of no return . . ._

And the voice began again, continuing Christine's part. No matter that the verses were hopelessly out of order; all Candy wanted to do was stand and listen to the beautiful dark voice.

_Past the point of no return -  
no going back now:  
our passion-play has now, at last,  
begun . . .  
Past all thought of right or wrong -  
one final question:_

_how long should we two wait,_

_before we're one . . .?_

_When will the blood begin to race?  
the sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames, at last,_

_Consume us . . .?_

And then they reached the moment where the Phantom and Christine's voices intermingled.

_Past the point of no return  
the final threshold -  
the bridge is crossed, so stand  
and watch it burn . . .  
We've passed the point  
of no return . . ._

The sheer power of the two voices made her eyes prick. This was a strange circumstance—she was still so confused—and yet, and yet…the beauty of the man's voice overwhelmed her. The beauty of her own voice overwhelmed her. No matter that she was singing a love-song with a stranger. At that moment, Candy lost herself in the music. Turning and flashing pictures ran through her mind like flames—she was here, she was a star, she sung before crowds of hundreds with her sweet piercing chilling warming voice and the man's voice would always be there to guide her. She was enchanted. She was flying into darkness, deep darkness, lit by only her thoughts—and suddenly she was back on the stage, the music had stopped, and hot tears were running down her cheeks.

She shook her head. What had just happened? She felt as if some spell had been lifted. A minute ago, she would have gladly married whoever was singing. Now, she was utterly perplexed. She needed to know who had been singing—but it was dangerous. That voice was beautiful, but it echoed some darker side Candy half wanted to explore. Her other half protested against the charms that were ensnaring her. She felt like such a fool.

The theater was silent now. She breathed slowly, trying to calm herself.

And then the lights just as suddenly went out, plunging her into darkness. She went down onto her hands and knees, as if expecting an attack.

The voice whispered, _I am here._

Candy thought she might have screamed. She stood and ran blindly, and fell hard into the orchestra pit. The wind was knocked out of her, and she lay there in pain, panting. The agony dulled in a few seconds and she was on her feet again, pulling herself out of the pit, dropping onto the dusty red carpet, pulling herself up again, running down the aisle through the doors the foyer and out onto the steps in the fierce sunlight and cold wind.

On the pavement in front of her lay a red rose.


End file.
